Miss Strickland mentions that the conduct of the attendants of Queen Mary at Peterborough was probably the reason why they were sent back to Fotheringay Castle, instead of being liberated after the pompous funeral of their murdered mistress. "They were cruelly detained there nearly three months, in the most rigorous captivity, barely supplied with the necessaries of life, and denied the privileges of air and exercise."
Among those so detained were Gillies Mowbray, and Barbara (Mowbray) Curle, and Elizabeth Curle. James, then King of Scotland only, sent Sir John Mowbray to Elizabeth to remonstrate on the treatment of Queen Mary's servants and to demand their release. Then, having been joined by Gilbert Curle, [{816}] Barbara's husband, they sought the protection of the Catholic king in Antwerp.
There they rest in the church of the great apostle, the patron of Scotland.
The unhappy woman who occupied the English throne obtained entire success—she gained the English crown, murdered her rival, and pursued Catholics with death, ruin, and exile. But probably no well informed person—certainly no Catholic—will doubt that these ladies, in their exile, their devout lives and pious deaths, enjoyed happiness unknown to Elizabeth in her guilty prosperity.
Our readers will not be displeased to receive this short memoir of two ladies who were the attendants of Mary, Queen of Scots, during life, and at her death.
From The Lamp.
ALL-HALLOW EVE; OR, THE TEST OF FUTURITY.
BY ROBERT CURTIS.
CHAPTER XXIV.
The moment it had been ascertained that Emon-a-knock had been so seriously hurt, somebody thought—oh, the thoughtfulness of some people!—that some conveyance would be required, and she was determined to take time by the forelock. Jamesy Doyle it was who had been despatched for the jennet and cart, with a token to the only servant-woman in the house to put a hair-mattress—she knew where to get it—over plenty of straw in the cart, and to make no delay.
Jamesy Doyle was the very fellow to make no mistake, and to do as he was bid; and sure enough there he was now, coming up the boreen with everything as correct as possible. Phil M'Dermott and Ned Murrican led poor Emon to the end of the lane just as Jamesy Doyle came up.
"This is for you, my poor fellow," said he, addressing Emon. "An' I'm to lave you every foot at your own doore—them's my ordhers from th' ould masther himsel'."